THE Stories
by clueless in seattle
Summary: Chapter 14. The Silence Of The Camels. Eames has to visit an inmate at a secure institution.
1. The Cell

**Disclaimer:**All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for).

**AN:** This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…we agreed the nipple rings and horns would only be worn weekends…and NOT when my folks were coming for dinner)_

_**This is a different kind of "cell"…or maybe not?**_

**_THE CELL_**

"DA DAA DADA DADA DA DAAAA. MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU!"

The only_"force"_ for Alex Eames at that moment was the amount she was applying to the brake of the SUV to avoid hitting the back of a truck.

Next to her Bobby Goren was squirming and wriggling in his seat. Trying and failing to get his hand in his pant's pocket to the phone, which was blaring with a volume would drown out the horns on a foggy night on the Hudson.

"DADA DADA DAAA DA DA DAAAA. DA DAA DADA D.."

Finally it stopped as Goren answered it.

And it turned out to be a wrong number.

"New phone?" muttered Eames, her ears still aching with the sound.

"Uhuh. Neat huh?" beamed her partner.

"Loud" she responded.

"I'll turn it down" he shrugged. "Good thing is I can download all sorts of tunes to it and change the ring tone.

"Great" she hissed as they got going again.

"I thought so too" said Goren.

Over the next few days it seemed Bobby had not lost any fascination with his new _"toy"_. He was changing the ring tone probably more frequently than he changed his underwear and that led to a series of incidents he described as _"unfortunate"._

"_OH SAY CAN YOU SEE BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT"_ resulted in chaos at an old folks home.

Staff began rushing all over and calling _"Code Blues"_ when they saw elderly residents standing up and seeming to clutch their hearts as if having a mass coronary attack.

At a convent the next day a frail nun they were interviewing really did have one.

When Sister Margaret Mary suddenly heard a voice from somewhere around Bobby's crotch yelling, _"WAKE UP MAGGIE! I THINK I'VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO YOU"_

And the woman they went to inform her husband was dead, opened her door to two cops and disembodied voices singing _"YOUR LOVE LIFE'S D.O.A. BUT I'LL BE THERE FOR YOU"_

She complained officially and Goren was lucky not to be suspended when in the middle of Ross telling him off about his phone, it suddenly rang.

Goren claimed later what really made Ross foam at the mouth was that he'd had to translate for the Captain. Who didn't know what _"VOULEZ-VOUS COUCHEZ AVEC MOI, C'EST SOIR?"_ meant.

It didn't improve the situation but he was under strict orders to turn off the ring tone completely. And didn't reveal what plans he and Ross might have for later.

Ten minutes later Eames heard a soft moaning sound from the desk opposite. She looked up to see Goren stretched out in his seat, his eyes glazed and his mouth curving into a slight smile. Between his softly panting breaths.

"Oh shit" murmured Alex.

She realised her partner hadn't just discovered the _"vibrate"_ facility of the new phone in his pocket. He was damn well enjoying it. Rather too much.

_**AN :**__** Goren got rid of that phone soon after he discovered "someone" had programmed it to ring with **_**"I Want To Be Bobby's Girl"**_**…he still hasn't worked out who it was…**_


	2. The Chase

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and if you keep doing that the temptation will be to boldly split more than an infinitive…)_

_**I have always suspected that Bobby has fantasies about being…um…er…Kevin…youngest of the Busch brothers…**_

**THE CHASE**

Bobby Goren cursed silently the fact the SUV was an automatic box as he kicked down the gas pedal to get the revs and acceleration he wanted. Not what _General Motors_ and its infernal electronics knew was best for engine preservation and fuel economy.

The effect was instant as they made it ahead of the lights changing on Fifth and Forty First. Just. As a taxicab making a right, suddenly changed his mind with a blare of the horn.

A quick left and right with the wheel meant they slewed past that and avoided the bus pulling away from a stop. The speedometer was touching fifty-five as he braked hard and somehow the heavy vehicle defied its centre of gravity to make a turn on Forty-Third. Pedestrians on the cross walk scattered.

"You should have taken Forty-Fifth" muttered Alex Eames beside him.

"Who's driving?" he asked mildly as the SUV bucked over a dip in the road and he had to swerve to avoid the rear of a sixteen wheeler backing out of a yard.

"You are Bobby" she hissed before somewhat yelling in his ear. "There he is!"

Several millimetres of tyre tread were left on the road as Bobby's size thirteen hit the brake and perhaps as well for ABS, as they slid by the cement truck. Bobby able to yank the wheel violently right before the SUV's engine protested the renewed acceleration.

"Got him" he said coolly.

The white Lexus they had briefly lost contact with, must have seen them and suddenly sped up.

"Shit" breathed Eames as the sedan mounted the kerb to squeeze down an alleyway to evade them and Bobby went after him.

The SUV at a precarious angle as her partner bumped it up onto the edge of the sidewalk and was lucky not to burst a tyre they hit it so hard. Not so lucky or impossible though, to avoid a lamppost in the confines of the alley as with a hideous screeching noise they went by. Leaving, no doubt, what would be rather more than _"a small paint job"_ from the front panel to the rear.

Alex could feel the bun of the hotdog in her hand starting to disintegrate, she was holding to it so tightly as they cleared the alley right behind the Lexus. Heard Bobby mutter, _"Damn"_ as a sound told you they were now trailing their rear fender, after thumping down off the kerb.

"Left! Left!" she yelped as the Lexus made a sudden turn and somehow managed to miss a line of dumpsters waiting for the garbage truck.

"I know" Bobby grunted softly.

He was forced to use the parking brake to help him turn the SUV, though they clipped the last of the dumpsters as he let it off and it fishtailed slightly under renewed acceleration.

Three men unloading meat from the back of a truck fleeing for the sidewalk as the white car bore down on them at close to sixty. The GM ran over several prime cuts they'd dropped in their haste.

"Guess that's ground beef now" said Bobby flipping the wheel right as they returned to the busy streets.

Just as a small group of pre-school kids were being escorted over the junction.

"No!" Eames screamed unable to stop herself, as with a sickening bang one of the little children was hit and went flying over the roof of the SUV.

Bobby, with his eyes screwed shut, somehow bringing the vehicle to halt before they hit the back of a truck carrying a load of bricks. Red misty lights before his eyes when he opened them.

"_GAME OVER_" flashed repeatedly on the screen.

"I win" said Eames handing him back his cotton candy as they moved away from the games console "I got 0.6 of a mile further before I ran over that blind man"

"And his seeing eye dog don't forget" muttered Bobby. He was not always a good loser. "How long before we have to be back to the bus?"

"Half an hour" said Eames "Hey! Take this Goren"

"Oh yeah" he took from her the bright green bear he'd won on the rifle range. Honours were about even in the competition stakes he supposed, as he tucked it under his arm.

They walked out of the arcade onto the boardwalk.

"Just time for us to go in _The Tunnel of Love_ Bobby" Eames hinted heavily.

"No thanks" he muttered. "I…um…I…er…you know I'm not great in confined spaces"

"You were fine on _The Ghost Train_" Eames pointed out. "Though I'm not sure I didn't once date a few of the things we saw in there"

"That was different" Bobby grinned wolfishly. "And worth it for the way Elliot Stabler was screaming the whole way round"

"Urh…uck…mm…ing…urh"

"Excuse me?"

Eames swallowed the last of her hot dog "Sorry. I was saying it's a pity you and he don't get on"

Bobby shrugged and sucked the cotton candy for a moment. "I let him win a goldfish at that hoopla thing didn't I?"

"That's true and that was kind of you Bobby" she said "Not your fault he then dropped the bag. Think that fish will survive long in the drains where Olivia managed to flip it?"

"Longer than it would have in Elliot's strawberry _Slurpy_I expect" he muttered, recalling the SVU detective's immediate reaction to that crisis. It wasn't one added to his confidence in the man.

"Oh look Bobby" said Eames grabbing the bear he'd decided to call_"Yogi Berra"._Something else he'd had to explain to Elliot.

"What?" he asked somewhat irritable.

It had been a long, hot day at the "_1PP Annual Fun Day"_ and funfairs were never his idea of _"fun"_ at all. But then his suggestion of a day at the _Met_or the _Guggenheim_ never seemed to garner much support.

"A coconut shy"

Bobby reached in the pocket of his jeans. "Here's the change then if that's what you want"

"No" snorted Eames before smiling. "I was thinking maybe you'd try and get one? You know they almost nail the things in to stop you winning one. And according to you Bobby, you did pitch for your regiment in the inter unit whatever they call them one time"

He looked down at her "You don't even like coconut"

"And? So?" Eames shrugged in one of those responses of feminine illogic gave Bobby migraines, such he'd stopped trying to fathom them years ago.

"Okay" he sighed passing her _Yogi_ and his cotton candy. "And no sneaky nibbles Eames. I swear you must have a tapeworm the way you've been eating all day"

"_No I'm saving the sneaky nibbles for the back seat of the bus after a few beers"_ She thought to herself. _"With any luck"_

Bobby took the three wooden balls from the guy, tossing one experimentally and wriggling his shoulder to loosen it.

_Maybe a coconut would come in useful after all? He could use it to defend himself on the bus later. Or maybe stop Elliot organising them all to sing stupid campfire songs and leading the actions? Last year he got them so wrong they were all miming _"Y the spreading M chest AC"_ for goodness sake. And the chances of managing to engineer leaving Stabler behind at a rest stop, two years running, were pretty remote._

Five minutes later they were returning to the bus. With one green bear, one coconut and Eames now carrying a bumper box of pizza slices. Already half eaten.

_**AN:**__ The real reason Bobby hates _"The Tunnel of Love"_ is because of "an incident" in his adolescence on a school outing which still makes him squirm and blush to this day...dial 202-456-1414 to find out more (remember to prefix with 1 if you are calling from outside the USA)_


	3. The Love Train

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and don't look to me for sympathy…I told you a dozen times you'd get stuck in your zipper doing that one day)_

_**A rare episode sees our two favourite detectives leave New York…**_

**THE LOVE TRAIN**

It wasn't often in their work that Alex Eames and Bobby Goren got to leave the city of New York, so the need to go and speak to a serial killer jailed in Cleveland was a welcome break in the routine. At least it was for her even if the half dozen mummified bodies found in a basement, bearing what Bobby was sure was his signature, were rather grisly.

But he'd enjoyed every moment poking around down there and Eames liked nothing more than to see Bobby happy. Her problem had always been that he never seemed to have any interest in doing the one thing that would have made her happy and with luck _(if the rumours about him were true)_ very likely ecstatic.

There was she knew, without Bobby's help to remind her, a saying which went _"Everything comes to he who waits"_ though a sudden strike amongst airline crews might change that to _"she who waits"_. Because the only chance of them getting back to the city before the end of the week was to take the train. Specifically the overnight _"Ohio Express"_ though Eames rather wished she'd taken on the job of getting refunds for their plane tickets and booking for the train.

Because Bobby had reserved them two sleeping compartments, not the one she would have though with no intention of them squabbling over who got the top bunk. She didn't give a hoot which, so long as it was only one in use that night. With luck _(and if the rumours about Bobby were true)_ they could always try the other in the morning before the train pulled into Grand Central and she tried hard to wipe the smile of triumph off her face.

At the station and both of them needing some overnight essentials, Eames spent almost an hour in the lingerie shop. Amongst a group of guilty and embarrassed looking businessmen as she selected the appropriate clothes for the occasion. Before concluding the solution was the obvious one all along. You buy the most expensive which also consists of the least amount of fabric and in the case of lingerie, with one or two of those extra special _"sexy"_ features. The kind Eames hoped would get Bobby's attention as fixed as six mummified corpses had.

She would worry about maxing out her credit card another time, though when she rejoined Bobby on the platform Eames did wonder why the only bag he was carrying was from an electrical goods store. Surely he could shave with a wet razor one time and if it was her choice he need not bother. So long as his face tickled more than scratched, he could put it anywhere he liked so far as she was concerned. And if Bobby was uncertain, Eames had a list of those places prepared ready for him.

Her hopes of a candlelit dinner for two in the dining car to ply him a little with some wine and get them in the mood for later were dashed. When the steward explained because of the crowding they'd have to double up the sitting. However, the couple who joined them turned out not to be a couple at all. But a photocopier salesman whose deodorant wasn't cutting it and a blonde English professor from Columbia who bore a remarkable resemblance to Elle McPherson.

At least that was what Bobby said. _Probably to stop his tongue from hitting the ground as she sat down beside him._ So instead of staring into the dark limpid pools of Bobby's eyes for three courses, plus coffee and mints, Eames spent most of dinner looking into his left ear. As he talked with the professor about music, literature, Japanese kabuki theatre and someone called Titi Caca struck Eames as strange and inappropriate. Until she gathered Titicaca was a Lake in South America, not the stripper worked at the_"Blue Parrot"_ on 43rd. Meanwhile she hoped it was only the napkin in his lap the photocopier sales man was fiddling with under the table, stabbed his hand once with her fish fork to stop him fiddling with anything of hers and learned that a _"quire"_ spelled that way, not _"choir"_ is the name for 25 sheets of paper.

However all did not seem to be lost. When they returned to their sleeping compartments Bobby did not dismiss out of hand her suggestion he come by later _"to discuss their findings and the next moves"_. Little did he realise that the only _"findings"_ she was interested in were how many of the rumours were true, including the one about the numbers of _"moves"_ he knew had nothing to do with chess. Eames was putting her faith and crucial parts of her anatomy in sheer peach satin and lace to help her get what she wanted from tonight.

She spent several minutes selecting the right pose on the bunk to achieve the desired effect. A mixture of _"wanton readiness"_and _"coy surprise"_ for when Bobby walked through the door. All she achieved after 20 minutes was severe cramp and an unwelcome visit from the photocopier salesman. It took the SigSauer under her pillow to persuade him his luck wasn't in tonight after all.

Then to add insult to injury, Eames suddenly heard a loud groan from next door of the sort didn't suggest Bobby was in pain or suffering indigestion. _Why would he be?_ _That damned professor had more or less fed him his chocolate mousse off a teaspoon earlier._ She hurried to the tiny bathroom, grabbed the tooth glass and pressed it against the cabin wall with her ear at the other end.

To hear mattress spring noises from next door and Bobby urging _"Don't stop. Go for second baby"_ and then another groan. Next thing he was almost moaning _"Slide! Slide!"_ and then after more mattress creaking he was howling, _"Almost…yes yes…oh my God". _Eames flew out of her compartment, almost giving the elderly conductor a heart attack until she pulled her mackintosh over the satin and lace, and burst into Bobby's compartment.

He was on the bunk fully dressed apart from his tie slightly loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. Holding a portable mini TV.

"Mets just went 2 up bottom of the eighth" he said casually

"Really" Eames muttered

"Hope I didn't disturb you. Got a bit carried away there for a moment. Want to borrow it for a while? It's _"Friends"_ after this. The one where people think Chandler's gay"

"Chandler is gay" she scoffed retreating with as much dignity as it was possible to muster, which wasn't much "I'll see you in the morning Bobby"

"Uhuh…that was never a strike…sleep well…um…bed bugs and all that" he was staring at the screen again.

Eames slammed the door to Bobby's compartment, slammed her own and proceeded to carry out a deadly assault on every soft furnishing in the room, before falling on the bunk in an exhausted sleep.

Which was just as well for Bobby because it meant Eames didn't hear the faint creak of him letting down the top bunk in his room and helping down the professor from Columbia. Where he'd hidden her pending the certain arrival of Eames at some point. Nor her yelling _"Yes yes oh my God"_ for the third time an hour later. Or him rounding all her bases again just before the train crossed the Hudson River next morning.

_**AN **__Yeah yeah I know I'm mean to Alex…but at least I didn't kill her…yet…mwhahahahaha_


	4. The Competition

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!_

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…go back to finishing your crossword)_

_**This could happen…couldn't it????**_

**THE COMPETITION**

**_Judge 1:_** So it looks like we have a tie for first place between three contestants in this category.

There was a groan went round the table after three hours of fierce competition in which the standards had been very high again this year.

**_Judge 3:_ **Okay let's go back to the judging criteria set out in the rules and see if any of us can adjust our points scores

After a couple of minutes of checking their cards and leafing through a thick manual they were ready.

**_Judge 3:_ **I've deducted a point off the guy from Vegas

**_Judge 2:_ **Why?

**_Judge 3:_** Because I think he starts with an unfair advantage. The nature of his job means he has to do it a lot. Pure necessity not as a specific or tactical technique.

**_Judge 1:_** Well I had him marked down on grounds of poor eye contact to begin with. Compared to the other two.

**_Judge 2:_** You could say the same about the one from Florida

**_Judge 1:_** Maybe but it's harder to tell in his case. And I think he might breach the spirit of rule 22b if not the letter.

**_Judge 3:_** Let's not get into that right now. Seems we've now got the Nevada contestant in third place. Agreed?

The other two nodded their heads and murmured agreement that overall that was right.

**_Judge 2:_** So lets' get back to this eye contact thing can we?

**_Judge 1:_ **It's simple. How can you judge eye contact when the contestant is wearing shades?

**_Judge 2:_** The rules don't strictly forbid it. It's not like using a chair or a table for extra support

**_Judge 3:_ **No it's not but I take the point about how they mask the eye-line during competition. Whether they constitute a forbidden accessory or aid in 22b is another matter.

**_Judge 2:_** You could say the same about the guy from New York. The hands in his pockets business?

**_Judge 1:_** Let's not go round that one again please folks. There is nothing in the criteria forbids it.

**_Judge 2:_** No. But how do we know what he's doing with his hands in there? That he's not…taking advantage of…his natural accessories…psychological comfort seeking

**_Judge 3:_ **Let's not get crude about things colleagues. Anyway Judge 2 if you want to bring up the issue of hands look at Miami.

**_Judge 1:_ **The persistent gun stroking you mean? Now if ever there was subconscious psychological comfort seeking that's it. Makes whatever New York might be doing with his hands in his pockets look totally innocent. Which it could be.

**_Judge 2:_** I will concede that argument and in any case I took a point off Miami for being unable to make a declarative statement without touching his gun.

**_Judge 3:_ **And I added a point to New York for his far greater ability to combine the interrogative with the declarative and exposition.

**_Judge 1:_ **Looks like we have a winner folks. New York, Miami and then Vegas. All agreed?

There were nods of approval as they gathered their scorecards and went to declare the result.

Bobby Goren sat back on his couch to admire the trophy he had put on top of the TV. The one for _"Best Investigative Officer: Solving Crime By Speaking With The Head Angled At More Than Thirty Degrees"._ Kind of tough on Gil Grissom and Horatio Caine to end as the "bridesmaids" once again…_but hey_…that's life…


	5. The Incident

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now stop hogging all the bedclothes)_

_**Alex needs Bobby to be at his most sensitive and kind to her…**_

**THE INCIDENT**

When Bobby Goren went into the private room they had given her Alex Eames was still in one of the institutions robes and shaking slightly. He saw the visible effort she made to control that as soon as she realised it was him standing there. The way she instinctively clutched it round her neck so he not see the extent of the damage. Though it was fairly evident from her lower legs and on her arms below the sleeves of the robe.

He tried hard to pretend he'd not seen it as he shifted awkwardly not certain what to say for the best.

"Sit down Bobby" she said dully "You make the place look untidy"

Bobby did as he was told hoping that maybe this hadn't robbed his partner totally of her sense of humour and grit. She'd need as much as she could muster in the days to come and even the weeks to come were not going to be easy.

"I…um…I'm sorry Eames" he said

"Don't blame yourself Bobby" she sniffed softly "It's not your fault. You did warn me about the risks. I should have listened to you"

"Have they done…um…you know…everything they need to for you?" he asked painfully aware no matter how sensitive a guy was by nature and how much he tried to be, it was impossible to know what really to say in this situation.

She nodded "And I've scrubbed myself in the shower back there…three times…like it…as if it will…"

"I know" he said quietly reaching out his hand to pat hers. She withdrew like he'd been about to hit or hurt her.

"Perhaps if I…um…had checked the place out myself first…not let you…on your own…this wouldn't have happened"

"Don't be silly Bobby" she said "You would have stuck out like a sore thumb and been blushing as red as that tie. There's certain places…situations…well a guy like you doesn't fit in"

"You should take a couple of week's leave" he suggested "I'm sure a doctor would…um…maybe a psychologist could help…"

"What difference will that make?" she snorted suddenly seeming to pour her anger out on him "Everyone will know what happened. Some of it will still show"

She pulled back her hair even he'd noticed she'd brushed more forwards "Look Bobby! Just look what that lunatic did to me"

"I know Eames" he said looking at the floor too awkward and embarrassed to look his partner in that face.

"He'll lose his licence I swear he will. I'll make sure of it"

"His licence!!" she almost screamed "Is that all? There's barely an inch of my body he hasn't had his hands all over Bobby"

Eames shuddered "Or are you about to find another of your psychobabble excuses for what he did. His Mommy didn't love him enough or too much or…or…" she broke off literally speechless with rage

"He wasn't wearing his contacts Eames" he said knowing the explanation wasn't going to satisfy her "He didn't dilute the fake tan in the right proportions with body lotion"

Goren glanced at his watch "Anyway when you're ready I'll be waiting for you outside the beauty salon. Just tell people you've got a bad case of jaundice"

He ducked through the door before copy of _"Cosmopolitan"_ hit it with such force and accuracy where his head had been, Eames really should consider trying out for the starting rotation at Shea.

_Maybe next time she'd stick with his plan of just going for a hot dog at lunchtime?_


	6. The Secret

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…and no I do not have time to peel you some grapes…I'm busy)_

_**Bobby discovers it's a very bad idea to make private calls during working hours…**_

**THE SECRET**

When Alex Eames entered the squad room Bobby Goren was speaking to someone on the phone. There was something about his body language, the softness of his voice and the expression on his face told her it was a conversation he didn't want over heard.

"Hardly ever…well that's not true" said Bobby.

"Went up fine Wednesday night when it was just me…yeah was great…then Friday just when I needed it to…uhuh…no sign of life at all. Yeah of course I tried that…and like you said I tried pressing where you showed me…"

Eames sat down anyway. She was intrigued and making, she hoped, a fairly good job of making it look like she wasn't listening.

Yeah" he was saying "They are much better since I glued the foam under them like you suggested…bit tricky to get it the right size and shape but it seems to be working. But it's the other thing…no still not right…"

Eames glanced over as he picked up his ball pen, repeatedly clicking the thing in a nervous fashion and she tried not to notice the insistent and regular sound.

"Uhuh…like I told you when you checked it out the other day…totally dead…no sign of anything happening…" Bobby muttered, "I'm not sure which is worse. That or what was happening before…yeah the getting halfway then…well letting me down in every sense…uhuh…especially embarrassing no matter how kindly someone says _"these things happen Bobby"_ to you and suggests you go to the movies instead…uhuh…no he couldn't get it to work either"

Eames almost had to nail her eyelids to the desk to stop herself looking over at Bobby. _It was true he wasn't a kid anymore but he was surely too young to be having that kind of trouble?_ _And just her luck for it to happen to him before she got chance to find out if the rumours about him were true._

"No" said the guy she hoped would end up her partner in every sense.

"Won't even go up manually sometimes…well I did kind of hope that stuff might work…why I'm calling again Doc…uhuh…Tuesday evening suits me fine…I'll see you then…around six-thirty…pardon?…really…hang on a moment…"

Eames sensed him reach for his folder and finally make use of his pen. Years of working together meant she could read his writing wasn't the neatest, upside down. A quick glance confirmed her worst fear as Bobby scrawled _"Viagra"_ in his folder.

"What time and where?" he asked writing down what looked like 2.30 "And how much?"

Eames saw what looked like _"$60"_ get added before Bobby went on "Yeah I expect I will" before lowering his voice almost to a whisper and saying "So long as no-one here finds out…"

"_Too late"_ thought Eames knowing this was something she'd definitely keep to herself and wondering what she could or should say when Bobby got off the phone.

His voice was more normal but still rather quiet as he said "Meanwhile I'll try the other thing you said…see if holding it that way works…and see you Tuesday. Bye Doc"

Bobby put down the receiver and glanced up with a sudden pink flush on his cheeks "Oh" he startled a little "I…um…I didn't see…er…realise you were back Eames"

He glanced about him guiltily and closed the folder swiftly "Sorry…private call in work time"

"I gathered" she said before leaning forward over her desk and lying quietly "I didn't mean to eavesdrop"

Bobby shrugged fractionally "I don't suppose you will be telling anyone about it"

"Of course not" Eames paused and decided maybe she should say something.

"I…I'm sorry to…the problem you're having Bobby. Not sure what I can…is there anything I can do…to help I mean?"

"You're welcome to try Eames" he muttered somewhat bitterly as she resisted the temptation to crawl under the desk and get started right there and then.

"Do you know much about them?"

Eames coughed to stop herself choking and flushed "My share I guess"

"Funny" Bobby sat back "I never took you as one much into gizmo's"

"Excuse me?" she said wondering not for the first time exactly what did go through that head of Bobby's he'd use the word _"gizmo"_ for it.

"Entertainment systems" he said making her frown. "I wish I never saw that ad for a 42 inch, HD wall mounted system with a remote adjustable height screen. Damn thing won't go up and down despite my pal Doc trying to fix it"

"Oh" she sighed with relief.

"I…um…that probably is out of my league Bobby. That's Doc the electrical engineer guy isn't it?"

"Uhuh. At least the foam stopped the reverb on the speakers" Bobby stood up "Be with you in a minute…um…I just need to…er…pay a visit"

"Of course Bobby" she said watching him leave and turn left down the hall in the direction of the rest rooms.

_Before wondering if Bobby had told her the truth after all?__Otherwise what was all the stuff he wrote on his pad?_

Checking the bathroom was clear, Bobby pulled out another of those _"gizmos"_. His cell phone. To call an illegal bookie, get sixty bucks down for Doc and fifty for himself on a sure fire certainty called _Viagra_in the 2.30 at Belmont. It was only on his way back to the squad room something suddenly struck Bobby about that whole conversation…_damn it_…life sure had a way of getting complicated for him sometimes…


	7. The Last Watch Cap

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…please stop arguing and give me the map…last time you navigated we set out for Pennsylvania and ended up in Pensacola)_

_**AN:**_ _A "watch cap" is sometimes called a "beanie" or a "ski hat" or "stocking cap" …and in the UK they can double as a "tea cosy"___

**THE LAST WATCH CAP**

Bobby Goren looked out the bedroom window of his apartment. The weather forecast last evening had been right. New York was getting the first heavy frost of winter and the street below and the roof of the block opposite, twinkled with tiny clear and white crystals that had formed on the surface.

Bad enough getting a call that wakes you at 3 am, just as you are about to pitch a _"no hitter"_ for the _Mets_. Even worse when it's game seven of the _World Series_, George Steinbrenner's wallet is receiving _CPR _in the owners box at _Yankee Stadium_ and you are told two bodies just found in Central Park require your urgent attention. But when it's below freezing, life really starts to suck and he knew additional things needed to go in his pockets.

Bobby also knew something a lot of people didn't. That up to 30 of your body heat could be lost through your head because at any one time 16-20 of your blood was in that area. To keep the brain oxygenated and at three in the morning, two bodies were liable to be more demanding on the O_2_ consumption of the cortex. An occasion where conserving heat would be important.

He went to the bottom drawer of one of the dressers and after a short struggle, got it to open. The problem caused because it was stuffed to overflowing with woollen watch caps. Had enough in there to supply one to every guy on the forty-man rotation of the _Mets _and probably most of _Yankees_ as well. One was actually in a pinstripe pattern, even if the colours were pink and yellow.

Bobby never set out to acquire so many. Didn't pick them up in the street or claim them from the subway system _"Lost Property"_ offices. Nothing like that. They were courtesy of his Mom who never got out the habit of knitting them from odd balls of yarn she picked up in the sales. When he and his brother were kids they tended to lose them regularly, so right through each winter she kept up a steady supply.

Boys being boys they were careless of them, dropped them, left them behind _"somewhere"_ and often used them for other purposes. With a stone wrapped in the middle they made a great alternative to a real baseball and he'd once put an injured bird he found in his to take it home. By the time he got there the bird had pooped twice in the dark blue cap and died, so it ended up as a woollen coffin to bury it in. Several got snatched off his head by bigger boys but that was better than being hit and in the end Bobby got so he wasn't so little any more.

But with each one that vanished, out came the knitting needles again and time you got up next morning for school, a replacement was waiting for you. It meant taking your chance sometimes on the colour, dependent on what the store was having a _"clearance sale"_ of at the time. He could vividly recall one Saturday morning standing beside his Mom as she went through the yarn bin and all she was finding was pale pink and peach and something apparently called _"lavender"_. At eight years old the prospect of being seen in those shades was enough to freeze your bowels in the middle of a heat wave.

Unlike gloves or mittens, which could be fixed with tapes or elastic to your coat sleeves, watch caps rather defied that solution. Though one time his Mom had threatened them with that when they were losing them at a higher than usual rate. Mom never did find out they _"lost"_ two thanks to stuffing them with stones and leaves and stapling them together to make a football. More accurately it was four, but Jimmy Cooper was responsible for the second two, which ended up in the lake. But then Mrs Cooper bought he and Ralph those hats with earflaps, were useless as a football and Jimmy did go on to get a trial as a quarterback for the _Jets._

They tolerated the gloves fixed to their coats through first to about fourth grade because most other kids had to endure the same. And realised it was impossible to expect Mom to knit two pairs of gloves overnight. Watch caps were easy, she knew the pattern by heart and seemed to make automatic adjustment to the size as they grew. Perhaps realising when Bobby came home with the tips of his ears a luminescent pink and blue the next one could use being a little larger.

Even when they entered their teens Mom was still producing new watch caps, when their uses and the reasons for the attrition rate changed. His brother would stuff small items he'd shoplifted under his to get them out of the store and Bobby would not deny a red one of his came to a nasty end. It was either throw up in that or in the back of his friend's, Dad's car one night after too many illegal beers. Simple choice really and helped them evade detection over that night's excesses. And at fast approaching six feet two it was stretching credibility to say, _"a bigger boy took it and ran away"_. Still intoxicated when asked to explain its disappearance, Bobby thought he might have laid the blame on a flock of seagulls desperate for nesting material.

As he surveyed the rainbow of colours and the drawer full of the knitted watch caps, Bobby knew they were in many ways symptomatic of Mom's illness down the passing years. She didn't seem to realise the two of them were not kids any more to lose them quite so often as they once did. Or in latter years, to comprehend it was his brother now _"lost"_ a lot of the time; such there was only himself to give them to. And there was no doubt however she acquired the wool once she was institutionalised, neither Mom nor the purchaser gave much thought to colour. Hence the yellow and pink he'd never wear. Even if he did have the _"social confidence"_ it would certainly require which you lacked at eight. To say nothing of the size, badge and a gun would tend to make any _"smart ass"_ think twice before saying anything negative.

Each one Mom gave him when he visited he accepted graciously and brought home to put in that drawer. Bobby had no idea how many there were and he only ever wore about half a dozen of them. Didn't need elastic any more to prevent him losing them and these days if he found an injured bird he'd likely pull it's neck to save it further suffering. But still being able to knit a watch cap was one of the few things Mom's physical and mental faculties allowed towards the end. And whatever else about him had changed, the tips of his ears would still go painfully red in this kind of weather.

Bobby reached down to pull out the one in a pale green, but as he did so another fell out on the floor. In thick wool it didn't have the fancy stripes and patterns she once worked into the design for them. Ones that did make theirs a little out of the ordinary and which she hoped would help or encourage them not to lose the latest. A few kids, who did not have Moms with her skill, rather envied those. He picked it up giving it a gentle squeeze.

It felt so soft he reckoned it was that wool baby clothes were made from. It was even a shade of blue they called _"baby"_ or _"powder"_ and one reason he'd never worn it. Perhaps even though it was size to fit him now, Mom in her condition still thought of him as her _"baby"_? And of course the stitches were simple and uneven in tension and made at a time when it probably took her a week of effort to finish, not just a few hours. It was as if that watch cap embodied her situation, her pain physical and mental at the end, because it was the very last she ever made for him.

"Cute hat Goren" smirked some cop. "Where'd you get it? _RockaBuyBaby_?"

"Where's the damn CSU team?" he muttered.

The _"last"_ watch cap was on his head. Keeping it as snug and warm, as it was when he was eight. Thanks to his Mom and her knitting needles.

_**AN :**__ A "tea cosy" is something you put over a "tea-pot"…into which BOILING (not hot/tepid/luke-warm) water has been poured…despite the efforts of a few enthusiasts the eighteenth century to prove river water in Beantown, Mass. a suitable alternative._


	8. The Walk Through

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…by the way "Fancy an exchange of bodily fluids later?" is NOT a romantic or seductive suggestion)_

_**I just love the scenes where Bobby and Alex do this…**_

**THE WALK THROUGH**

Alex Eames walked into the hallway of the apartment and glanced around as her partner Bobby Goren crouched on the floor. Rubbing his gloved hand on the carpet and sniffing it. She almost dreaded what he was going to say.

"Detergent" he said softly with an expansive gesture. "This has been cleaned in the last 24 hours" He rubbed his hand over it again. "Still damp in places"

"Uhuh" she said rifling through some items on the hallstand. "There's a pass here for _The Skyline Club._ Admit two…Saturday night. Must have been a private party. I'll check out the booking later"

Eames stepped into the kitchen. "Everything's neat and tidy in here". She opened the oven door. Nothing nasty or hidden in there.

Goren followed her in and reached by her to take the lid off the bin. "Someone forgot to empty the trash"

She watched him rake through the unpleasant looking debris and remove six beer bottles he stood on the counter.

"One half eaten vegetable spring roll" he murmured with his head halfway into the thing. "Some remains of egg fried rice and…" he sniffed. "Prawn chop suey. See? There are the remains of a few bean sprouts?"

Eames pulled a face as she pulled out with two fingers, a piece of paper from between a sports magazine and the centre roll from toilet paper.

"Someone isn't re-cycling as much as they should. I hate bean sprouts. Like white worms"

Goren looked at her "You should eat them Eames. Pound for pound they are one of the most nutrition rich sources of food on the planet. Full of minerals, vitamins and essential amino acids. These are from _mung_beans" he picked one out of the trash.

"Sometimes called Chinese because of their use in Oriental cuisine. Especially that of the Kowloon area of Hong Kong. But many other sproutings are edible. Alfalfa, navy beans, sunflower and tatsoi to name but a few. But you do need to be careful. Some contain toxins like those of kidney beans and have to be well cooked before you eat them"

"Whatever" she shrugged. "The take away was for two"

Goren twisted round suddenly. "How do you know?"

"Says here on the bill" Eames muttered reading the stained scrap of paper. "Meal B. Two persons. From _The Lotus Garden_. That's just along the street isn't it?"

"Uhuh" said Goren unable to resist turning off the cold tap a little harder, which was dripping. "Does it have a time on it? They sometimes do?"

"Can't see for what looks like spaghetti sauce" she frowned. "Oh yes. Twelve forty-four am. Yesterday. Guess that got bought on the way back from the _Skyline_"

"Reasonable assumption" said Goren quietly, clutching his folder and going down the hall.

Eames put her head quickly into the bathroom. "Water in the bottom of the shower" she called. "Means it's been used this morning. And a condom wrapper in the trash"

She caught up to Goren in the bedroom. He was counting the number of freshly ironed shirts hanging from the closet door. Why that mattered Alex had no idea as she pulled back the bedclothes and switched on a UV light. Flickering it over the sheet to illuminate certain marks.

"Looks like someone hit for the fences at least once. Maybe twice" She picked up one of the pillows and sniffed it "_Chanel Number 5?_"

Eames passed it to Goren's gloved hand for him to smell. He sniffed twice.

"_19_" he corrected her

"You sure?"

There was a way Goren had of holding that folder told you he didn't always like his opinion or judgement to be questioned as he stepped back in the hall. Eames tossed the pillow and followed him into the living room. Unlike the rest of the apartment it was in something of a state of disarray.

The seat cushions of the couch had been lifted aside and left on the floor beside it. Like someone was searching for something. It and the high backed leather chair were moved aside. You could see the marks on the carpet where they normally stood and the coffee table was on one end by one of the numerous well-filled bookcases. They seemed to be untouched, though a cupboard beneath one of them was open.

Eames picked up a couple of scatter cushions from the floor and found between them a single stocking.

"I guess this is where some of the action happened or started," she said to Goren who was standing by the dining table hugging his folder and staring at something. With that little _"chewing on his nail"_ gesture.

"There's a piece missing" he said waving his hand over a large jigsaw puzzle. "See? Blue of the sky? Must just have a tiny touch of green from the top of the_ Liberty _statue torch flame"

"So the search could have been for that? Nothing to do with this?" she held up the black stocking.

Goren nodded.

"Even so" Eames inspected it more closely. "The lady is probably a little pissed. These look like good quality five denier silk to me and there's a run in them"

She pointed out the place near the top. "What you get with a ham fisted guy"

Her partner coughed awkwardly. "Seen enough?"

"Sure" Eames tossed the stocking on the jigsaw and reached for the SUV keys in her pocket. "Though why we have to go through this every Monday morning Bobby I shall never know. Why can't you just tell me what you did on the weekend like normal people do?"

Goren followed her from his apartment; mildly upset by the way she used the word _"normal"_.

_**AN:**__** What's really worrying is I could almost see this happening…and think it "normal" !!!**_


	9. The Hours Before Dawn

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…congratulations…you managed to take out the trash…what do you want? A medal?)_

_**This is rather bleak in places…**_

**THE HOURS BEFORE DAWN**

Bobby juggled the baby he'd barely got to hold in the last week. Somehow managing not to send a small, dark head crashing to the kitchen floor as he tested the temperature of the milk in the bottle. Exactly the sort of thing some people feared might happen.

He'd not needed to hear it all to know what was being whispered about, spoken of in his kitchen whilst he'd been sitting numb on the sofa. Receiving the latest lot of people who had come to express awkward and formulaic platitudes _"at your loss Bobby"_. Like it was a set of keys went missing or he dropped his favourite coffee mug? Something that might turn up, or be replaced and win his affections over in time? Not his heart ripped in two by Jenna dying.

Bobby sat at the table with a slight shiver. T-shirt and shorts in the middle of a January night wasn't the warmest. Though, of course in his arm, Will was well wrapped up. Something else, those people no doubt questioned his sense or ability to be able to do. In a way they almost certainly would not if he were a woman. And maybe if he'd got to hold Will, feed him and take care of him more last week, he would not feel as he had at times all day. Like the baby was an alien creature.

Instead, and between their platitudes, the women had more or less taken over. Taken Will with more formulaic phrases like _"No need for you to do that Bobby"_ or _"Let me. You need to get some rest"._ Well no he didn't. He needed to be doing something. Not be sitting with reminders of Jenna all around him whilst in the kitchen they fixed bottles or cooed over Will as they cleaned him up. And talked in that low monotone about him. How Bobby was going _"to cope"_, whether he would_"manage on his own"_ and perhaps in a few cases, whether he was psychologically fit and capable of doing this.

Funny how all those concerned words on Will's behalf were more or less forgotten within 24 hours. Of them all standing around the hole in the semi frozen ground where they had left Jenna. Now, suddenly, he was alone and left to cope. Little wonder he'd not always been sure what it was he should be doing for Will all day. Been terrified at times he'd damage little limbs with his clumsiness and unfamiliarity with what he was doing. Sensed Will almost struggling against him and making sounds of distress, as yet another stranger held him. One whose voice and feel and maybe even smell were scary after that procession of soft voiced, soft bodied and softly scented women who suddenly vanished.

Will refused the teat of the bottle, turning his head away and making Bobby feel inadequate all over again. Like it must be him doing something wrong and he was slowly building _"the case for the prosecution" _with each thing he tried to do and didn't get right. For all those who had whispered about his fitness to parent Will. And of course suppressing those _"demons"_ in his own head this was somehow his fault. Him who had wanted kids, him who had not been there in the hours after Will was born and when, suddenly, Jenna haemorrhaged. As if his presence might have saved her, when those properly qualified tried and failed.

"Please son" he pleaded to the squirming infant. "Please do this for me. It's down to you and me now and I really am doing my best"

Bobby wasn't sure if it was a miracle or sheer co-incidence that at that moment Will gave up his resistance, took the bottle and began to feed greedily. As if until then he'd been denied milk and it was like that all the time. He'd be sleeping and still in his arms, then the moment Bobby put him down begin to cry piteously. Or seem to be happy and content in that short time this age they were awake. But the moment he reached to touch him gently, or say something softly, the little guy would begin to scream, like he was hurting him.

"That's a good boy," said Bobby quietly and looking at that little face now lost a lot of that post birth _"wrinkling"._ And wondering.

Wondering how it was possible to hold such strong and very contradictory emotions inside you. Of course he loved Will unconditionally and could see Jenna in him. In that curve of his ear for example was so like hers it almost hurt. Not sure if he was glad Will hadn't inherited her golden colouring would serve as even greater reminder of what he had lost, the price they both paid for the life in his arms. Love and yet there was also resentment, lurking somewhere in the dark parts of his heart.

That Will was somehow to blame for all this. If he'd not been conceived, taken so long to get born, not been so awkward and difficult they more or less had to pull him out of Jenna, she'd have had more strength. Not been so exhausted she could have fought harder or longer, when six hours later things really went wrong. That in some ways Will was _"to blame"_ for killing his own Momma. Done it to punish him for wanting what so many people seemed to have that made them happy. Except Bobby never imagined this outcome.

Those nights near the end when Jenna would lie beside him shifting with a sigh, unable to sleep too long with the discomfort of her distended belly. Bobby's view of the future had been of them snuggled together on a winter night as Jenna nursed. Not him sat shivering with cold and uncertainty. Alone, miserable and lost without her and scared stupid he was going to fail the helpless, and occasionally infuriating, little thing in his arms.

And yet, he suddenly found himself smiling at the slurping noises Will was making on the bottle and then, when he spat the teat to get his breath, at the trickle of milk at his mouth. Bobby reached for a cloth to wipe it. For once Will not turning away from him and wriggling. He offered him the bottle again.

"Did you have enough son?" he asked carefully turning him so he could rub his back a little.

This time at least, there was no projectile vomiting of the whole lot all over him as he carried Will back to the bedroom. Laid him, was almost asleep again down carefully. And picked up his sister Cassie.

"Now you are your Mommy's daughter aren't you sweetie?" he said cradling the little fair head to his shoulder and then yawning a little as she did. "Me too Cassie. Kind of beat myself"

Five cocker spaniel puppies really were hard work to be hand rearing and there were still three more in the basket on the bed, before Bobby could get back to sleep tonight.

_**AN:**__Oh purleese…did you really imagine for one second Bobby was dealing with a human infant!!_

_**AN :**__And for those like to know these things…the other puppies were a black bitch called Chaos and two gold dogs called Trapper and Pierce... just a pity Cruella De Ville's more evil cousin, Kitty Skinner, got the lot and made them into very stylish evening bags…mwahahaha!!_


	10. The Rookie

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…I told you before using a CD as a coaster was a bad idea)_

_**Bobby and Alex find themselves getting some help to solve a mystery…**_

**THE ROOKIE**

There were two people on the ground when they arrived.Goren went right to them pulling on gloves. At his side, the aspiring young detective had learned to say nothing. To watch, listen and learn and not to speak until invited to.

"We figure this was what caused the injury" said a uniformed sergeant to Eames.

She looked at the bloody rock "Doesn't look like it's been moved recently…like she picked it up to hit him with it…maybe pushed him and he fell back on it?"

Goren turned the head to get a better look at the back. The man's hair was matted with blood and feeling with his fingers he could sense the shattered bone.

"Fractured skull" he said "And you can see he went down before she did. The way she is half on top of him? Her arm splayed out to the side"

Goren instructed the rookie to take a look around for anything unusual.

"Hey Goren!" said Eames from the top of the slope "We got ID here by the pond"

He walked with long strides up to see her.

She was looking at a driver's licence "She's got to be Gillian Williams, address in the Bronx. Anything on him?"

"Nothing in the pockets" he shrugged "But he's wearing one of those little badges. You know? Like they give you at conferences. Has John written on it"

"Look what I found" said the rookie gleefully as he appeared from behind some bushes.

He was carrying a small bucket. Goren crouched down again and gestured down the slope.

"So what do you think happened here Detective?"

The youngster looked around with a frown and then chewed briefly on his thumbnail in a strangely familiar gesture.

"Jack and Gill came up the hill to fetch a pail of water, Jack fell down and broke his crown and um…um Gill went tumbling after?"

Goren smiled "Good. Well done"

"Ice cream now Daddy?"

"Chocolate?"

"Yay!"

He hitched the small boy onto his hip to carry him back to the car. As she followed, Alex had to admit Bobby might not be raising his son in a conventional way, but it was working. Another case solved.

_**AN :**__** Next time Bobby and his son will discover "Who Killed Cock Robin" and conclude the mysterious death of Mr H Dumpty was an accident.**_


	11. The Inauguration

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

(_**And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…touch that remote again and y'all be a dead man!)**_

**THE INAUGURATION**

The morning was cold and crisp as the cops lined up on the flagstones of the Plaza. The great and the good of NYPD assembled in a phalanx on the steps of 1PP and the atmosphere was charged with excitement and optimism.

Closed circuit cameras were relaying events inside the building and on all floors every cop, CSI and civilian worker not engaged in urgent business, clustered around the screens.

Heads turned as the Chief of Police, Captain Danny Ross and Alex Eames stepped from the building. She was carrying a large and battered book and for a moment there was some shuffling around as they took up position.

Bobby Goren emerged in his best dress uniform and glanced about anxiously as he approached the official party. Eames saw him swallow hard as he flicked imaginary lint from his shirt and stretched out a long arm to place his right hand on the book she held.

His voice sounded hesitant and quiet as he repeated the oath after the Chief. Though by the end it rang out with confidence and clarity across the Plaza.

"I do solemnly affirm that I will faithfully execute the office, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the espresso machine of Major Case"

As the assembled officers began to applaud he muttered to his partner.

"If I knew it would mean all this shit I would never have agreed to take over managing the coffee fund"

Eames shoved the accounts book none too gently into his midriff

"Good luck Bobby. You'll need it. Trust me!"

_**AN : **__**I can't think what inspired me to write this one!**_


	12. The Tourist Trap

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching those limits and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…now quit interrupting I'm busy…and possibly…maybe…later…if you behave)_

_**I thought it was time something worked out right for Bobby given the trials I sometimes put the poor guy through…and some of this stems from incidents really happened to me…and if y'all gonna **_**"write yourself"**_** into a story, why not be bold about it?**_

**THE TOURIST TRAP**

As they entered the Fifth Avenue entrance lobby of _The Empire State Building,_ Alex Eames turned to her partner Bobby Goren whose attention seemed to be more on the art deco features than this frustrating case they were working on.

"Shall we take the elevator or the stairs?" she asked.

"It's a hundred and two floors to the observatory and gift shop Eames" he replied. "And one thousand eight hundred and sixty steps. I think you chose a bad day to wear heels if you fancied a work out"

"I sometimes think humour is wasted on you Bobby" she muttered seriously thinking to bring one of those heels down sharply on his size thirteen's. Making it _seem_ it was an accident. As she had on previous occasions he _"made her"_ do it.

He said nothing as they turned the corner to the elevators where a line of tourists snaked three times round the hall and which Eames used her badge to by-pass. What some took at first to be ill-mannered behaviour and resulted in muttering and mumbling in perhaps ten languages, before people realised they were cops.

Nor did they discuss the strategy to interview a witness worked in the shop over thousand feet above their heads as they squeezed into the car with a tour group of Australians. Because Bobby spent the whole ride revealing more of the cornucopia of facts he seemed to know about the building. The over ten million bricks in the façade of the building, the fact it had 6500 windows, as well as the colours and dates for the special floodlighting events of the top thirty floors. The group from Perth very grateful, since the saving of time at the in-house exhibit would allow them more to _"down a few tinnys"_ at lunchtime.

Eames knew it was a mistake to ask what that meant, as Bobby spent the time it took to transfer elevators for the next stage of the trip explaining it referred to beer. Specifically cans of beer or if you were Australian _"tinnys"._ On account the English of the Antipodes was based more on British linguistic usage. Which usually, but not always, meant what an American called a _"can",_ their shared, former colonial masters called a _"tin"._ The term deriving from the fact that was the metal from which the earliest types were made. Or more accurately the plating as tin was rust resistant to hold liquids.

Bobby could become very pedantic at times and Eames was grateful for the crush of numbers in the next elevator car because she would still stay upright if she fell asleep. Whilst he expounded on other examples of _"what George Bernard Shaw once said"_. Like _"sidewalk"_ was _"pavement", _a _"hallway"_ a _"corridor"_ to a Brit (_except in domestic premises_) and what they were in a _"lift"._ Though the Australians seemed to enjoy it especially as Bobby also seemed to know an awful lot about the differences each side of the Atlantic about sexual slang.

How in Great Britain _"fanny"_ was anatomically speaking the opposite side of the body to the USA _(though only in women)_ and considered by some there almost as vulgar to say as…a word a slight screeching from the elevator _(or was it lift?)_ brakes thankfully drowned out. Leaving Eames to conclude Bobby's claim to have spent time in Oxford chasing _"co-eds"_ (_a term apparently almost extinct over there_) was probably true. And that he had succeeded in catching a proportion of them.

Her irritation with him that morning only grew greater when they got to their destination as Bobby wandered off around the shop, leaving her to question the witness alone. It wasn't like this was the crime scene or the home or office of a suspect, where objects he saw often offered him those strange insights led ultimately to the solution of a crime.

Bobby was content to duck behind a wall of t-shirts sufficient in number, style, design and size range to outfit the entire population of a Mid Western state. Assuming they all wanted to boast _"The Empire State Building Rocks", _and he couldn't but think that at a hundred and two floors up, it was a very poor choice of slogan. But Eames' irritation with him he knew exactly how to induce (in more ways than deliberately not laughing at her jokes) and her pre-occupation with the witness, gave him the chance to do what he wanted.

To search amongst the variety of souvenir pens and pencils. For indelible purple marker pens to add to his growing collection. Bobby never set out to acquire such a large number, but tracking down an exact match for shade and thickness of the felt tip was proving frustrating. A match for the one used to write those poems about him on the female rest room walls at 1PP, which the contract cleaning crew alerted him to so often. Poems whose bad spelling, weak stylistic form and poor rhyming technique he was used to. Though the content about him was luridly imaginative, always wrong and often anatomically impossible. Or if not impossible, very uncomfortable and not things he found especially pleasurable. They might be some female's _"dream come true"_ but those poems were at the root of his worst nightmares.

Bobby had lost count of the purple marker pens he'd purchased all over New York in recent months and was just glad he had size thirteen feet. Not only did they come in useful to intimidate male suspects with one of those anatomical legends, but he now needed three of his shoeboxes to store the pens. Shoved under his bed, but labelled and sorted for the closeness of match to that used by an author, or authors, whose creativity would be better expressed at _Bellevue_ in some sort of therapy session. They might do well to take spelling and grammar lessons at the same time.

He'd just snuck to the counter to pay cash so as to not leave a credit card trail he might live to regret, when he realised the woman ahead in the line was in difficulty. Not the brunette browsing through postcards but the older one, no question her mother. You could see the resemblance between them and Bobby could tell from the accent the more mature lady was British. He knew none of them ever spoke like Dick Van Dyke had in _"Mary Poppins"_ and had once witnessed a whole room full of Brits, rolling on the floor weak with laughter whenever he appeared on screen during a showing of the movie. An accent, one of them had assured Bobby, got Dick more laughs than he ever had in any other of his appearances on British TV networks, when he was trying to be funny.

Bobby listened to the exchange as the older woman said to the assistant behind the counter. "Do you have any souvenir pencils without rubbers on the end?"

Which made the young man's eyebrows rise almost as high as the building they were in _(opened in 1931) _and then respond with a stiff "Excuse me?"

The unfortunate woman looked behind her for a moment to see whose path she was blocking. But then Bobby knew in the UK if you wished someone to repeat something they said _"Pardon?"_ or more colloquially, _"Say again?"_ or _"Sorry?"_ and if you met an ignorant Brit, _"Eh? You what?"_

"The pencils over there?" she indicated. "They all have rubbers on the end. Do you have any without them please?"

The assistant behind the counter sniggered and waved over his friend. "This lady says our pencils all have rubbers on the end. Now that's a first"

Bobby knew the Brits might have a reputation for being cool and polite but he could see the senior getting annoyed by the seeming stupidity of the staff serving. And heard the way with cut glass clarity of accent, emphasis on each syllable and at a speed a trainee stenographer could manage, she said once again. _"Rubbers on the pencils. Do you have any without them?"_

Sensing muttering behind him in the line and seeking to help, Bobby stepped forward. At the same time as the daughter realised her parent was having some sort of problem and turned from the postcards. It meant she ended up stepping on his size thirteen's, but luckily for him she wasn't wearing the four-inch heeled, black patent leather that for some reason Eames had on today. He sometimes wondered if she still did some part-time undercover work with the Vice Squad when he saw some of her clothes.

"Oh hell Mum" said the brunette in a mid Atlantic tone just as Bobby said "I think I can help you ma'am"

For a moment they looked at each other. Her upwards and him in a downwards direction, which given his height was usually the case with women. And then with that fractional eye lingering look in certain areas of the anatomy. The sort the human genetic code pre-programmed into both sexes to ensure the continuation of the species. Though as her gaze met his feet and one of hers brows twitched, Bobby suspected she knew that _"urban legend"_ too. And that he would give her a chance to find out how true that might be.

"Sorry about your foot. Another of those George Bernard Shaw moments" she said. _"Two countries separated…"_

_"…by a common language"_ Bobby finished knowing it was probably bad manners to interrupt, but seeing that slight smile again suspected he might be forgiven.

"And Oscar Wilde?" there was a mild challenge in the tone. _"The Americans are identical to the British…"_

_"…in all respects except, of course, in language"_ he finished the quote wondering if there was such a thing as love at first sight.

"Pardon me for interrupting this literary exchange" said the brunette's Mom _(or rather Mum as the Brits say)_ "But I still didn't get this sorted out"

"Better if you tell her I think" said Bobby slightly awkwardly then stood back. But he did hear what the brunette hissed in her mother's ear.

"_Over here a rubber is a slang term for a condom"_

"Oh" said the Mom/Mum with a slight flush of pink before turning to the assistant. "Do you have any souvenir pencils without the little…um…erasers on the end?"

"No ma'am" said the young assistant, who had maybe learned a useful lesson for the future.

Bobby saw her slightly grit her teeth as she said, "I suppose those will have to do then"

She went by him muttering to her daughter "Wait until your father hears about this one"

"I take it this happened before?" he said to the woman knew Shaw and Wilde and not wanting her to move away too quickly

"Kind of" she replied using the American term not the Brit he knew was more commonly _"sort of"_.

"Worst was when I lived in California. Waitress at some place said she assumed we were Germans. On account we spoke English so well"

Bobby smothered a laugh as he took the change for his latest purple marker pen and they moved away from the counter "What did you say?"

"I think Dad said he'd spent six years of his life making sure the whole of Europe didn't grow up speaking German. Whilst you Yanks sat on your asses for two of them, taking bets on the outcome" she grinned. "Or rather he said _arses._ Because where I grew up an _ass_ is only ever a donkey. And if you don't wish to be that rude you say _bum_, which is never an itinerant"

"What was it they said in the UK when US troops began arriving?" he frowned. "The word play on the Cohan song _'Over There'_ ?"

"_Over due, over paid, over sexed and over here_" she replied. "I'm sort of mounting a one woman counter occupation. Though the job isn't over paid and anything else is my business"

"You live and work here now?" he asked. "The accent I mean?"

"Yeah terrible isn't it?"

"I don't think so" he'd moved with her to the door of the observation platform.

"It helps now though" she muttered. "Over on the west coast when I first moved out I got asked three times if I was from Sydney or if I'd ever met Kylie Minogue"

Bobby frowned and said incredulously, "They thought you were Australian?"

"Uhuh. And trust me, for a Brit that's a far bigger insult than ever being thought to be German. Anyway I must go round up my folks before they get themselves into more bother with the locals. Thanks for offering your help Detective Who-ever-you-are"

"You noticed the badge?"

"Eventually"

"It's Goren" he said with a smile. "Robert Goren"

**Ten minutes later....**

"Where have you been?" muttered Alex as he rejoined her like he was a kid wandered off in the mall.

"Helping some overseas visitors Eames. Protect and serve and all that"

"Only serving I saw going on was you at the counter"

Then she added suspiciously "What were you buying Bobby?"

"Rubbers…I mean erasers" he said, quickly shutting his folder as she peered at it.

So Alex didn't see the purple marker pen or the only note he'd made since they arrived. A name and number he intended to call when he got home.

_**AN 1**__** : **__The incident with the pencils and my Mom/Mum really did happen and got far more confusing before it got resolved (though not at the Empire State and regrettably not with Bobby anywhere nearby by to offer to help me out). So did the two examples of mistaken nationality…so much so in one case I almost considered taking up Australian citizenship. My Dad did NOT however make the remark attributed to him in this story…sorry Popsy._

_**AN2 **__**: **__I am not employed at 1PP nor do I own an indelible purple marker pen._


	13. The End

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_**(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron...Goren...?)**_

_**THE END**_

Eames took a deep breath and steeled herself to enter the morgue. Someone in the group of detectives waiting outside asked if she was sure she was up to this.

She wasn't. It was the last thing she wanted to do though she had long suspected that it was something she would end up doing one day. And she had to do it. She owed him that.

She pushed open the door and glanced at Liz Rogers. Who was wiping her eyes and sniffing as she signed some forms.

Alex could not help but think of the occasions she and Bobby had done this. He could be like a kid in a candy store during their visits to this place. Annoying Liz with the list of extra tests he wanted done to validate some insight or theory only he would have or think of. Or taking up instruments himself to explore the corpse before the doc snatched them away from him. And sometimes coming within an ace of _"showing off"_ with all that obscure and bizarre medical and anatomical knowledge he'd acquired from who knew where.

That knowledge, combined with enthusiasm had Alex own rolling her eyes or stifling a yawn in equal measure at times. Along with another expression. A smile like that a proud parent might get when their precocious child came out of school bubbling with enthusiasm over his latest intellectual curiosity.

But what Liz was doing or how she was feeling, did not matter to Eames as she approached the central table with a huge hole in her own heart. He looked so peaceful, an expression she rarely saw before. He seemed so small, covered in that white sheet to his neck which disguised the marks of the PM incisions.

And by some miracle his face and head looked normal. Perhaps because of Rogers' skill or knowing Bobby, because he went about it in the least destructive way. But Eames knew that the back of his skull was blown away and that they'd had to scrape a considerable portion of that famous grey matter off the walls of his apartment.

Typical of Goren. He'd left a note on the kitchen table explaining just why he did it along with a neat array of all the other papers you needed to deal with the aftermath of someone's death. He'd even shaved a short time before. Eames resisted the temptation to reach out and touch a rarely smooth cheek and stopped herself thinking how he once told her it was myth hair and nails grew after death. And how many suicides prepare for the end by doing things like showering and shaving and putting on clean clothes.

Whether she could ever forgive him for doing this was something for the future. She was too stunned, too angry right now. But then she was not the one certain they were beginning to experience the auditory and visual hallucinations she knew were symptomatic of schizophrenia. Not the one who had lived with a slightly higher risk because of her genes.

How much that preyed on his mind, Eames was never sure and in the moments she was able to get by her own shock and sense of abandonment, she could begin to understand why he did it. Some might see it as an act of cowardice and avoidance but it was easy to criticise when you were not the one facing what Bobby believed he was facing.

The chemical cosh of drugs that would dull those centres of the brain which he had used to such good effect to solve crime. He'd written of that and of his distaste for the prospect of increasing dependency or the possibility of institutionalisation.

Eames sensed Liz at her shoulder.

"The tox screen came back clear Alex. No alcohol, no drugs legal or otherwise. I don't know if that helps"

"Helps me" she softly knowing her own feelings of guilt, that she should have known something was badly wrong, were lessened a little.

Bobby had told her in the letter not to feel that way but she had dreaded the possibility that he'd decided to kill himself in the midst of an alcohol fuelled depression.

"I guess we'll never know Liz. Whether he really was starting to experience the onset of schizophrenia"

"He would have had the symptoms Alex" said Rogers. "Because I found a deep brain tumour. Big one. Enough to account for what he described in his...in the note he left"

"Oh no" sighed Eames "So this...he might have..."

"No...no Alex" Liz reached out her hand to re-assure her. "The location, the size of what I found there was no chance of a successful cure. At best some treatment might have delayed the end. But that would have been...and before that he would have..."

Eames glanced at her "You mean if Bobby had known that...he might...we could still have been standing here?"

"Uhuh. I'll...um...let you...I'll be outside"

"Thanks"

Alex waited for the door to close.

"Funny thing Bobby" she said softly. "You left me speechless the day we first met and I guess you've done it again"

She looked at his face for a long moment before leaning over and kissing his brow softly.

"Goodbye Goren" she said wiping away a tear.

As she turned towards the door, it opened.

Danny Ross stood there along with the indistinct figure of a second person in the hall.

"Alex" he said gently "There's someone I'd like you meet"

She walked from the soft illumination of the morgue into the light outside.

"Nice one Catherine!" called a cheerful sounding corpse as she returned to the room.

"Thanks Vince"

'_Goren'_ hopped off the table and reached for a pack of cigarettes.

"Glad it's over?" she asked.

"Uhuh. One more significant other in his life turning out to be inadequate or crazy or some long lost kid with mental problems pitching up and I would have shot myself. Did you get that contract clause you wanted for next season?"

"Not yet. But any more tops with short sleeves and low necklines when it's ten below outside and I'm outta here" _'Eames'_ snorted. "So what's on your agenda?"

"Dunno. Take a vacation for starters"

They walked outside towards their trailers.

"Read in _Variety _Sonnefeld thinks he's got Will and Tommy back on board. Would you be interested Vince?"

"Sure. An intergalactic cockroach has an excuse. That guy..." he gestured behind him "...was just being turned into more and more of a monster. Fun went out of it...oh does it matter? Got some beer in the trailer if you want?"

"Why not?"

_**THE END OF THE END**_

_**AN: This was written before the recent news...prophetic or what?  
**_


	14. The Silence Of The Camels

_**Disclaimer:**__All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for)._

_**AN:**__ This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!! _

_(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron...aaaah...you've been fooling around with a corpse in a dumpster again haven't you?)_

_**The Silence Of The Camels**_

Eames waited impatiently as the guard fumbled with a ring as large as a soccer ball but only holding three keys. Each one was the size of a baseball bat and it took him at least two attempts to find the right one for each of the locks. The tumblers inside turned with a rusty and reluctant sound before he threw open the heavy door, which creaked on hinges not often used.

Inside was total darkness until he found a switch on the wall. A series of lights flickered lazily along the hallway offering dim and patchy illumination.

"He's at the end Detective but whatever you do keep to the right" the guard growled.

Eames felt an unceremonious shove in her lower back and she found herself inside. She could not stop herself from twitching slightly and shivering with nervous uncertainty as the door closed behind her. She was alone and who knew what manner of perverts and crazies lay between her and her destination. Cut off from the world and held behind the bars of their cages in this subterranean fortress.

Eames took a step forward on the rough cut stone floor that showed little evidence of wear from the passage of feet to and fro. She stuck close to the wall for her first few steps as her eyes adjusted to the semi darkness.

"Damn" she hissed as her cashmere sweater, a real bargain in the Macy's Spring Sale, snagged on one of the crudely hewn blocks of stone.

The sound echoed through the hallway like a shout and Eames really did yelp in fright as to her left, a huge and ghostly white figure threw itself against the bars of the first cell. With a strange plopping and squishy sound. It was automatic to turn and look.

Pressed against the bars was a gelatinous blob of humanity. Something like a cross between the Pilsbury Doughboy and the Michelin Man.

"Doughnuts" he moaned hoarsely.

At least Eames assumed it was a _"he"_ by the tone of the voice. Though with those starkly pale and pendulous breasts, it might have been a _"she"_. Vast rolls of fat cascading like a series of rapids to around the knees prevented her making any visual confirmation of gender based on the external genitals.

And all in all Eames was relieved by that as, revolted, she took a few rapid steps forward. The morbidly obese creature was left behind her moaning in an oddly erotic way about double cheeseburgers and buffalo wings.

Any contemplation on why they were called _"buffalo wings"_ was cut short by something hitting the wall just in front of her face and peppering her sweater. It looked liked raisins dropping at her feet.

"Don't do that Marcel" whined a nasal male voice from the second cell.

Eames turned in time to see a Capuchin monkey leap from the bars onto the arm of a sofa. There were six inmates of the rather cosily furnished cell. Urban thirty somethings drinking coffee and doing very little. Unless you counted the amount of hair flicking and tossing two of the females were engaged in. Enough to give a regular woman a headrush.

"How you doing?" enquired another male voice.

Eames hurried along thinking the mystery of what happened to those people was solved and probably in the best way for the whole world. A fitting end when a series runs six seasons too many and there is no career worth speaking of afterwards.

She stepped over a pool of water on the floor. Forming where moisture was seeping through the walls. Though the smell as she passed by suggested not a underground spring, more a waste disposal or maybe a bathroom leak from above.

"Would ya like to meet Geoffrey?" enquired a voice to her left.

In the next cage a man was shaking all over, his eyes rolling as Eames glanced quickly at him.

Her uncertainty what to reply was resolved when he informed her he had other pink elephants in here she might like to get acquainted with. Getting too friendly with a buddy called _"Jack Daniels"_ was clearly his problem as Eames reached the last cell with an inner sigh of relief.

Almost every square inch was filled with a maze of bookcases. Like a library there were even notices to tell you what the shelves contained. Eames noticed with mild disappointment there was no _"romantic fiction",_ no _"family sagas"_ and not even the odd _"western"_, though her addiction to that type of fiction was a closely guarded secret not even Goren had managed to uncover. Her frustration at his failure to expose that or any part of her anatomy down the years was not so much a secret as the subject of water cooler gossip all over 1PP.

Instead, the volumes on the shelves were on the subjects of _"poisons",_ _"weapons"_ and _"physiology"._ Eames noticed one whole section was devoted to _"The Encyclopaedia of Esoteric Facts"._ That answered one riddle about her partner. _Perhaps it also contained the answer to why he'd never made a move on her? _

At that moment a door in the back wall of the cell opened and two guards wrestled a cart through the aperture. When it turned she noticed it had _"Home Depot"_ on the side and the advice to parents not to allow their children to ride on it. Anyone foolish enough to let their offspring share moving space with a ton of dry walling or a heavy glass shower screen deserved to have the little brats crushed to death in her opinion. It would probably be a service to the future of the human gene pool.

But the custodians of the institution had ignored the warning as, strapped to the cart, was the shackled form of a familiar figure. Cable ties bound his hands, duct tape his ankles and his body was strapped to the contraption with the sort of chain link sold for fencing. It explained the _"Home Depot"_ sign as they hoisted the cart into an upright position.

"Other way up guys" sighed the Promethean form as his head hit the cement floor none too gently.

Eames waited as they wrestled the cart through one eighty degrees and then left. The mask over his face was grotesque but Eames was sure she would never have voted for Nixon.

"Goren" she nodded as her partner wriggled a little within his restraints and Tricky Dicky's eye sockets fixed on her.

"Eames" he would have nodded but for the bindings.

"They feeding you okay?" she asked coming a little closer to the bars.

"I had liver and baked beans washed down with a nice coke" he replied.

"Diet?"

"Of course though..."

Goren broke off and sniffed the air hard three or four times.

"L'aire du Banalg" he said softly "You've been using Banalg Eames"

"No I have not" she lied having no intention of explaining what she got up to with Logan on stakeout two nights ago to have pulled so many muscles.

Some of them muscles in places only Goren would know that woman had them and whose unexpected discovery had so delighted Mike.

"So when can I get out of here?" Goren asked.

There was a plaintiff tone to his voice which, for a fraction of a second, had Eames feeling sorry for him. But her resolve was strong. This was for his own good in the long run.

"Soon as you quit smoking again Bobby" she snapped.

_**AN : There's something strangely familiar about this scene..I wish I could remember why...**_


End file.
